Amerika (7 page)

If only it had helped! Might it be too late? On hearing that familiar voice, the stoker broke off in spite of the fact that he could hardly even recognize Karl, for his eyes were filled with tears, tears of wounded male honor, of dreadful memories, and of his extreme current distress. But how—the thought occurred to Karl, who had fallen silent, as he stood facing the now equally silent stoker—but how was he all of a sudden supposed to change the way he spoke, especially since he believed he had already brought up everything that needed to be said without obtaining even the slightest acknowledgment, and as if on the other hand he had still not said anything and could hardly expect the gentlemen to listen to everything all over again? And at that very moment along comes Karl.

“If only I had come sooner instead of gazing out that window,” Karl said to himself, and, lowering his head in front of the stoker, he slapped the seams of his trousers to signal the end of all hope.

However, possibly sensing that Karl harbored furtive reproaches against him, the stoker misunderstood the gesture and, with the praiseworthy intention of getting Karl to change his mind, crowned his deeds by picking a fight. And did so just now, when the gentlemen at the round table had become annoyed at the useless noise distracting them from their important work, when the chief bursar had finally found the captain's patience incomprehensible and was tempted to erupt there and then, when the servant, now back in his masters' sphere, was sizing up the stoker with wild looks, and finally, when the gentleman holding the little bamboo stick—even the captain cast friendly glances at him every now and then—having become completely deadened to the stoker and even disgusted by him, took out a small notebook, and, evidently preoccupied with entirely different matters, let his eyes wander back and forth between his notebook and Karl.

“Yes, I know, I know,” said Karl, who had difficulty warding off the torrent of words that the stoker now directed at him; yet amid all the strife he still managed to spare a smile for him. “You're right, quite right, I never had the slightest doubt about it.” Anxious about blows, Karl would have liked to catch the stoker's flailing hands or, better still, push him into a corner so as to whisper in his ear a few soft, soothing words, which no one else needed to hear. But the stoker had already gone berserk. Karl even began to draw a certain comfort from the thought that the stoker could in a pinch overpower all seven men in this room through the sheer force of his despair. In any case, as a quick glance at the desk showed, it had a panel for the electric current with far too many buttons on it, and a single hand pressing down on them could make the entire ship, and all its passageways filled with hostile people, rise up in rebellion.

The seemingly indifferent gentleman with the little bamboo stick then approached Karl, and asked quite softly, though loudly enough to be clearly overheard over the shouting from the stoker: “So what's your name?” At that moment, as if someone had waited behind the door until the gentleman uttered those words, there was a knock. In response the servant looked at the captain; the latter nodded. Whereupon the servant went to the door and opened it. In an old imperial frock coat stood a man of medium build, who judging by his appearance was not especially cut out for working with machines, yet it was indeed Schubal. Had Karl not been able to gather as much from the hint of satisfaction in everyone's eyes, to which not even the captain was immune, he would inevitably, and much to his dismay, have recognized it in the posture of the stoker, who had clenched his fists at the end of his stiffened arms, as if this clenching were paramount, and as if he were prepared to sacrifice his entire life for its sake. All of his strength was concentrated there, even that which held him erect.

And so there stood the enemy, looking sovereign and fresh in his fancy suit, with an account book under his arm, probably the stoker's pay dockets and work records, and—without making the slightest effort to conceal that his foremost desire was to gauge everyone's mood—he looked each person in the eye, one by one. All seven were his friends, for even if the captain had had reservations about him earlier or had perhaps merely feigned to have had, after all the trouble the stoker had caused him, he would surely no longer have the slightest objection to Schubal. One could not be sufficiently severe with a man such as the stoker, and if Schubal could be reproached in any way it was for not having succeeded over time in reining in the stoker's obstinacy well enough to ensure that he would not have the audacity to appear before the captain as he had just done.

Well, perhaps one could still assume that the effect that this juxtaposition of the stoker and Schubal would have on a higher forum would not be lost on human beings, for even if Schubal managed to put on a sham, he could not necessarily keep it up indefinitely. His vileness need only peek through for a moment, and the gentlemen would notice it; Karl would make sure that would happen. After all, he had more than a passing acquaintance with the shrewdness, weaknesses, and moods of the various gentlemen, and so at least from that point of view, the time he had spent here had not been wasted. If the stoker had only stood his ground, but he seemed absolutely unable to fight. Had they dangled Schubal before him, he might have taken his fist and split that hated skull, like a thin-shelled nut. But even those few steps toward Schubal would probably be beyond him. Why had Karl not foreseen something so easily foreseen, namely, that Schubal would finally be obliged to come, if not on his own initiative then on a summons from the captain? Why hadn't he devised a precise battle plan as he walked over with the stoker instead of entering mercilessly unprepared simply because there was a door there? Could the stoker still speak, say yes and no, as he would be required to do in the cross-examination that would take place only if everything turned out for the best. The stoker stood there, legs apart, knees slightly bowed, head raised slightly, and the air went in and out of his open mouth as if he had no lungs left inside to handle his breathing.

Still, Karl felt stronger and more alert than he had perhaps ever felt at home. If only his parents could have seen him defending a good cause before respected figures in a foreign land, and even if he had still not achieved victory, he was fully prepared to embark on the final conquest. Would they change their mind about him? Set him down between them and praise him? And then once, only once, take a look into these eyes, eyes that were so devoted to them? What uncertain questions, and what an inappropriate moment to be asking them!

“I've come because I think the stoker is accusing me of some kind of dishonesty. A girl from the kitchen told me she had seen him heading this way. Captain, all you gentlemen, I'm ready to refute each such accusation by drawing on my papers and, if necessary, on statements from independent and impartial witnesses, who are standing outside.” Those were Schubal's words. He had certainly given a clear, manly speech, and one might have assumed from the changed expressions on his audience's faces that it had been quite some time since they had last heard a human voice. So of course they failed to notice that this fine speech had a few holes in it. Why was “dishonesty” the first pertinent word he came up with? Wouldn't it have been better to start off with that accusation rather than with his nationalistic prejudices? A girl from the kitchen had seen the stoker going toward the office, and Schubal had immediately understood what was going on? Mustn't his wits have been sharpened by guilt? And hadn't he brought along witnesses and even called them unprejudiced and impartial. It was a scam, nothing but a scam, and weren't the gentlemen not only tolerating it but even recognizing it as proper conduct? Why had he let so much time slip by after being told by the kitchen girl, if not simply to let the stoker wear down the gentlemen and thereby ensure that they would slowly lose their ability to make clear judgments, from which Schubal had most to fear? After standing outside the door, no doubt for some time, had he not waited to knock until after the gentleman had asked that trivial question and he could with good reason hope that the stoker had already been dispatched?

All this was very clear and indeed that is how Schubal had presented it, quite against his will, but one had to tell the story to the gentlemen in a different way, even more explicitly. They had to be given a jolt. So get moving, Karl, and at least take advantage of the time before the witnesses enter and inundate everything.

Just then, however, the captain waved away Schubal, who stepped aside at once—for his affair seemed to have been put off for a while—and, turning to the servant, who had just joined him, he began a muttered conversation, underscored by the most emphatic gestures and frequent sidelong glances at the stoker and at Karl. Schubal seemed to be preparing in this way for his next great speech.

“Mr. Jakob, wasn't there something you wanted to ask this young man?” the captain said to the gentleman with the bamboo stick amid general silence.

“Certainly,” said the latter, thanking the captain for his attentiveness with a little bow. And he reiterated the question that he had asked Karl: “So what's your name?”

Karl, who believed that the important matter at stake could be best served by getting rid of this stubborn questioner as quickly as possible, answered briefly, without, as was his custom, introducing himself by producing his passport, which he would in any case have first needed to find: “Karl Rossmann.”

“But,” said the man who had been addressed as Jakob, smiling almost incredulously, and he withdrew a few steps. On hearing Karl's name, the captain, the chief bursar, the ship's officer, and even the servant clearly showed excessive astonishment. Only the gentlemen from the harbor authority and Schubal responded with indifference.

“But,” repeated Mr. Jakob, approaching Karl with a rather stiff gait, “but then I am indeed your uncle Jakob, and you are my beloved nephew. Just as I suspected all along,” he said to the captain before embracing and kissing Karl, who endured this display of affection in silence.

Sensing that he had been released, Karl asked very politely yet also quite unmoved: “What's your name?” At the same time he sought to predict the repercussions that this latest occurrence might have for the stoker. There was no sign just now that Schubal could profit from this affair.

“Try, young man, try to understand your good fortune,” said the captain, who believed that the question that Karl had asked had offended the dignity of Mr. Jakob, who had gone to the window, evidently to avoid having to show his agitated face, which he even dabbed with a handkerchief. “The man who identified himself as your uncle is none other than State Counselor Edward Jakob. Probably very much in contrast to your previous expectations, you can now look forward to a dazzling career. Try to understand this as well as you can right now, and make an effort to pull yourself together.”

“I do have an uncle Jakob in America,” said Karl, turning to the captain, “but if I understood you correctly, Jakob is just the state counselor's family name.”

“Yes, that's quite true,” said the captain expectantly.

“Well, Jakob, my mother's brother, has Jakob as a baptismal name whereas his family name would have to be identical to my mother's, and her maiden name is Bendelmayer.”

“Gentlemen!” cried the state counselor, responding to Karl's statement as he returned in good spirits from his refuge by the window. Everyone, aside from the harbor officials, burst out laughing, some as if moved, others rather inscrutably.

What I said wasn't all that ridiculous, Karl thought.

“Gentlemen,” the state counselor repeated, “you're taking part in a little family scene, and I owe you an explanation, since I believe that only the captain”—this remark led to an exchange of bows—“has been fully informed about this.”

“Now I'll really have to pay attention to every word they say,” Karl said to himself, and he was pleased to see from a side glance that the stoker was beginning to show signs of life again.

“Throughout all the long years of my American sojourn—but the word
sojourn
hardly suits the American citizen that I certainly am with all my soul—throughout all those long years I have lived completely cut off from my European relatives for reasons that are, first, beside the point and, second, too painful to disclose. I even fear the moment when I shall be compelled to disclose them to my dear nephew, for there's unfortunately no way I can avoid saying a few frank words about his parents and their kin.”

“He is my uncle, there's no doubt about it,” Karl said to himself, and he listened carefully. “He probably had his name changed.”

“My dear nephew was simply—let's not shy away from the word that really describes what happened—was simply cast aside by his parents, the way one throws out a cat when it becomes annoying. I certainly don't want to gloss over what my nephew did to merit that kind of punishment—one doesn't gloss over things in America—but his guilt is such that merely identifying it is excuse enough.”

That's not bad at all, Karl thought. But I don't want him telling everyone. Besides, how can he know? Who could have told him? But we'll see, maybe he does know everything.

“He was, you see”—Karl's uncle continued, and as he spoke he kept tilting forward a little on his small bamboo stick, which he had propped up before him, thereby managing to relieve the affair of a certain solemnity it would otherwise have assumed—“he was, you see, seduced by Johanna Brummer, a servant girl, who's about thirty-five years old. In using the word
seduced,
I certainly don't wish to hurt my nephew, but it's hard to come up with a term that's just as apt.”

Karl, who had moved close to his uncle, turned around to gauge the impact of the story from the expressions of all present. Nobody laughed, everyone listened patiently and in earnest. Well, one doesn't laugh at the nephew of the state counselor the first time one gets a chance to do so. But the stoker seemed to be smiling at Karl, even if only faintly, which was, first, a welcome new sign of life and, second, excusable, for this matter which now was being discussed so openly was one that earlier in the cabin Karl had sought to keep a special secret.